


The Price of Redemption

by Veldari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Plotbunnies, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape Recovery, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldari/pseuds/Veldari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane joins the Brotherhood Without Banners in their quest to go north and fight off the evil they know is coming.  But Sandor has ulterior motives.  He's heard that his Little Bird is in the clutches of the ruthless Bolton Bastard, and he aims to right the wrong he did her when he left her behind in King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a plot bunny that invaded my head after episode 8 and won't go away. It looks like our favorite couple may soon meet again, and though I know it won't happen, this is the way I wish it would go down. I don't expect this story to be more than 4 or 5 chapters long. Because the idea came from the show, I'm going by show cannon and descriptions of characters will be based on the actors who portray them. Quotes in italics come directly from the show.
> 
> Of course, I do not own these characters and am in no way affiliated with the show or the books. This is merely my own wishful thinking.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

            

Chapter 1

 

    _“You’re a fighter, you were born a fighter.  You walked away from the fight. How did that go?”_   Dondarrion couldn’t know the nerve he had hit with those words, but Clegane was assaulted by the memory of the dead villagers, Brother Ray hanging from the rafters of his own sept.  Yes, he had tried to walk away from the fight, but the fight had found him.

Beric continued with his pitch for the Hound to join his cause _. “Good and bad, young and old, the things we’re fighting will destroy them all alike.  You can still help a lot more than you’ve harmed, Clegane.  It’s not too late for you.”_

Sandor Clegane thought hard on those words. He took another swig from the wineskin – watered down and awful but better than anything he’d had lately – and regarded the one-eyed knight.

                “You going North, you say?” he asked finally.  _North.  The Little Bird_.  He had told Brother Ray it was hate that kept him alive, and that was true enough.  But it was hatred for himself, mainly.  Hatred for not saving her when he had the chance.  He had left her to that lion’s den, and now last he heard she was missing, probably dead.  He had failed her.  He had promised to keep her safe and he had failed her.

                What was worse was he’d failed her sister as well.  Couldn’t even fight off that big bitch with the Lannister gold to keep her safe.  Now she was probably dead too. He was a worthless shell of a man, with nothing to live for.  So why had he?  Why hadn’t he died underneath that tree so many months ago?

 He had now heard from two different holy men that the gods had spared him for a reason, still had some purpose for him.    He never cared much for the gods, save the Stranger, and the Stranger seemed to keep rejecting him.  Gods knew he had wrought enough evil in the world at the behest of his masters.  Mayhap it wasn’t too late for him to do some good.

Brother Ray had preached peace, but that peace had got him good and dead.  Sandor had once told the Little Bird that strong arms and sharp steel ruled the world, and he’d had the right of it even then.  What Beric said was true, he was a fighter.  He was a man of violence, always would be.  But could that violence be used to help instead of harm?

Dondarrion said there was an enemy in the North that threatened everyone.  Aye, he could go north, help end this threat.  Might be he could even find the Little Bird’s bastard brother on the wall, help him where he had failed his sisters.  Would that make him hate himself any less?  Likely not, but it felt like the right thing to do.  And for once, Sandor Clegane truly wanted to do the right thing.

Clegane turned is head and spat, then looked back and Dondarrion.  “When do we leave?” he asked roughly, and Dondarrion lifted the corner of his mouth in what might be interpreted as a smile.  But it was Thoros who spoke.

“If you’re ready, we leave at first light.  We’ll take the Kingsroad north until we reach Moat Cailin, then we’ll have to take to the woods.” Thoros explained.

Sandor frowned.  The Kingsroad will take us right past the Twins.  Aren’t you worried the Freys and Lannisters will see us?” He asked.  “I’m sure the Freys are not too happy with your men for hanging so many of theirs, and the Lannisters want my head.”

Thoros stood and pulled another chunk of roasted rabbit off the spit.  “They’re too busy laying siege to Riverrun.  They’ll not even notice our passing.” He said.

Sandor nodded in understanding.  He had been out of touch with the rest of the world for nearly a year.  He had no idea what was going on now.  “And what’s going on at Moat Cailin then that we have to hide ourselves?”

“Ah, “Beric answered, “That’s a different story.  Moat Cailin is held by the Boltons, as is the Dreadfort, of course, and Winterfell.”  Sandor looked up sharply at the mention of Winterfell, a reaction that Dondarrion did not miss. 

“It was the Boltons that double crossed the Young Wolf at the red wedding.” Sandor said, almost to himself.  He had heard that much as he traveled the Riverlands with the little wolf bitch.  She had added Roose Bolton’s name to her list, he remembered.

“Aye,” Thoros answered, “And now they have wardenship of the North.  I’ve even heard tell that they got hold of the oldest Stark girl and married her off to Roose’s bastard, Ramsey.  An heir off her would strengthen their hold.”

At that Sandor felt a rush of something he couldn’t understand.  Relief that Sansa was alive and back in Winterfell where she belonged maybe?  Or was it anger that she had once again been sold off like livestock, good for nothing but her name and her claim?  Dondarrion interrupted his thoughts before he could further analyze them, and what he said made Sandor’s blood run cold.

“That Bolton bastard is as sick as they come.” Beric said with a look of disgust on his face.  “They say he tricked the Ironborn out of Moat Cailin with a promise he would send them all home, then he flayed them all alive and left their bodies hanging on their crosses all along the Kingsroad.  I also hear he makes a hobby of kidnapping young girls from nearby villages and sets his dogs loose on them.  From the things I’ve heard he’s got to be insane.”

Sandor sucked in a breath to stifle the moan that tried to force its way out of his lungs.  This is who his Little Bird was married to?  A psychopathic butcher?  He clenched his fist in rage and felt the overwhelming urge to kill….something. 

As if reading his mind, Thoros shook his head sadly.  “That poor Stark girl.” He said sadly.  “I can’t bear to think of what he’s likely done to her.”

“He can’t kill her.” Beric replied.  “He needs to get an heir on her.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t torture her.” Thoros said grimly.  “And once she’s given him his heir she’ll have lost her usefulness.”

Sandor stood angrily and kicked the log he had been sitting on.  “We have to get her out of there!” he growled.  “If we’re going north we have to help her!”

Thoros laughed bitterly.  “And how do you propose we get past the Bolton army?  What’s your interest in the Stark girl anyway?  Didn’t her sister want you dead?”

Sandor almost laughed at that, remembering the look on the wolf bitch’s face when she denied him the gift of mercy and left him for dead.  He hoped if she was somehow still alive she considered their debt paid.  His thoughts turned back to Sansa and he hesitated wondering how much to say.  Finally he let out the breath he had been holding and began to speak.

“The Little Bird….Sansa…I tried to help her.” He started, not looking at the two men out of shame for his own failure.  “That cunt Joffrey was cruel to her.  He berated her, called her stupid, made her look at her father’s head rotting on a pike.  She was tough, though.  She almost pushed him off the battlements before I stopped her.” His mouth twitched as he remembered the look on the girl’s face.  He had been both proud of her and terrified for her in that moment.  That’s when he knew he had to look out for her, because no one else would.

“Little Bird?” Thoros questioned with a raised eyebrow, but Sandor ignored him.

“The little bastard had his Kingsgaurd beat her, with their fists and with the flat of their swords” he continued. “I remember the bruises and cuts across her back and legs.  He had her stripped in front of the court, called her traitor.”

“You were Kingsgaurd, Clegane…” Beric began but Sandor cut him off.

“Aye, but I never laid a finger on her, not to hurt anyway, and the King was smart enough not to ask me to.”  Sandor growled.  “I wanted to save her, to keep her safe.  I tried to take her with me when I left, but she thought Stannis was going to win the battle, thought she’d be safer with him.  Silly little bird, I should have taken her anyway.”

 Sandor swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered that night and the way she had looked at him, as though she was looking into his soul _.  ‘You won’t hurt me.’  ‘No, Little Bird, I won’t hurt you.’_   But he had hurt her.  He had left her behind to fend for herself, and that was the cruelest thing he could have done.

“And what, Clegane, drag her through the woods?” Thoros questioned.  “Where would you have taken her?  Nowhere would have been safe for her.  You couldn’t have saved her then, and we can’t save her now.”

“The hells we can’t!” Sandor spat.  “You say the gods have a purpose for me?  Sansa Stark is my purpose.  If we’re going north we’re going to get her away from that bastard, and I swear by all the gods, old new and otherwise, I will never let anyone hurt her again.”

The three men stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Dondarrion on the red priest looked at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation.  For all Sandor knew they were.  Finally Dondarrion spoke.

“Alright, Clegane.” He began, “If it means that much to you, we’ll try to get her out.  There’s still the matter of the army between us, but if the Lord of Light truly wishes it, he’ll help us find a way.”

Sandor could care less about the fucking Lord of Light, but if it meant saving his Little Bird, he would take all the help he could get.  “Good.” He said, “It’s settled then.  Tomorrow we head north.”

Dondarrion nodded.  “Aye, tomorrow we head north.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Walder Frey gets an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos. They really made my day. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you like this chapter. This one has some canon typical violence as well as some creepy groping. You have been warned.

                She snuck in under cover of darkness.  It had been ridiculously easy to take out the guards at the gate.  Then she waited, but not for long.  The gates opened as riders left, likely to join the siege at Riverrun.  Before they closed, she crept in, quiet as a shadow, swift as a deer, moving through the darkest parts of the yard, silencing any guards who got in her way.  It was pitiful, really, the ease with which she made it into the main keep of the East Tower.

                She stopped when she reached the great hall, standing in the shadow of a pillar as she surveyed the room.  She wondered if there were still blood stains on the floor.  She could almost hear the screaming, the fighting, the sounds of the murderous betrayal that took place here.  And if she closed her eyes and listened closely, the dreadful strains of the Rains of Castamere could be heard over it all.

                She shook herself of this reverie.  Dwelling on the past would do her no good.  She couldn’t bring back the dead, but she could avenge them.  The man responsible for their deaths slept in comfort high above, but not for long. 

                She continued through the long quiet journey to the chambers of Lord Walder Frey.  Just before she reached her destination she stripped off her blood soaked cloak and tucked her dagger into the sleeve of the light blue dress she wore beneath it.  When she approached the lord’s chambers the two guards at his door leered at her with lust filled eyes as they took in her long red hair and bright blue eyes.

                “Looking to show us a good time, girl?” one of them asked, squeezing her backside as he did so.  She flinched out of his reach and shook her head.

                “Lord Ryman send me here from Riverrun, m’lord.” She told him.  “I’m to be a gift for Lord Walder.”

                “Figures.” The other one spat.  “Wait here, I’ll let him know you’ve come.”  With that he opened the lord’s chambers and stepped inside.  A moment later he came back out.

                “Lord Frey is waitin’ on you girl” he told her, standing aside so she could enter the room.  “Best not keep him waiting.” He chuckled darkly.  She shrank back, playing the shy maiden, and he pushed her forward into the room, closing the door behind her.

                The room was dark save the glowing embers of a dying fire and a solitary candle on the table beside the lord’s bed.  He was sitting up, leering at her as she approached.  He was old, incredibly old, and she wondered how someone that decrepit could even think of such things, let alone find the strength to participate in them.  That said, he certainly seemed eager to get his hands on her.

                She stopped at the foot of the bed and he looked irritated.  “Come closer, girl,” he told her.  “I’m an old man, I can’t see you so far away.”  The girl had a feeling he could see her just fine, but she moved closer, stopping just out of reach.  He looked her up and down, appraising her as one would a fine cut of meat.

                “What’s yer name, girl?”  He asked her finally.

                “Aryn Rivers, m’lord. “She said quietly.  He grinned, and she got a good look at his few remaining yellow-black teeth.

                “A Tully bastard, is it?  Whose yer father, then, girl?  Yer too old to be Edmure’s get.”

                “My mother says the Blackfish sired me, m’lord.” She answered.  His grin only widened at that.

                “The Blackfish, eh?  I always thought he preferred the company of men.” He chuckled at that.  “Oh well, any port in a storm, I suppose.  All the better for me.  Gods know I have enough children, but it’s worth havin’ another just to sire a bastard on the Blackfish’s get.”   He laughed harder and reached out for her.  She flinched away but didn’t struggle when he caught hold of her arm.  “Let’s see what you have under that dress, girl.” He said, sliding his withered hand up her side to paw at the neckline of her dress.

                She shuddered at his touch, but forced a smile on her lips, stepping closer still.  “You really want to see what’s under here?” she asked.

                “Don’t play games, girl.” He sneered.  “Take it off and get in this bed.”

                She slipped out of his grasp with a coy smile on her lips.  “As my lord commands.” She said, and reached behind her to pull at the laces holding the dress together.  Once they were released, the top of the dress slipped down her shoulders, revealing her small round breasts.  By the look in his eyes she could tell he was lost in his lust now.  Good, men were so much easier to fool when their blood was up.  She hiked her skirts up, climbed onto the bed and sat herself astride the Lord of the Twins.

                Lord Frey wasted no time cupping her breasts in his gnarled hands, pinching at her painfully.  She swallowed down her revulsion and let him grope her for a moment, lowering his guard more and more.  She could feel him stiffening beneath her and knew the time was right. 

He was so distracted by the flesh in his hands that he didn’t notice when she reached into her sleeve.  A quick flash in the candlelight was the only warning he had before the hilt of the dagger was protruding from the center of his neck.  He recoiled, reaching for the dagger, trying to scream for his guards, but no sound came but the gurgling of air pushing past the hole in his throat.

The smile she gave him then was grim and determined.  She pulled the dagger from the hole she had given him, and blood began to spurt covering her naked breasts, the remnants of her dress, and the furs on the bed.  He clasped his hands over his throat trying to stop the bleeding, but foul red liquid continued to gush through his fingers.  His mouth opened and closed but he was now struggling to take in air.

“Is that the sound my mother made when her throat was cut?” she wondered aloud.  “Did you watch her struggle to breathe while her life blood slipped away?  I bet you did.  I bet you enjoyed it.  Just like I’m enjoying it.”

“….who…..who…?” he managed to push out, as blood bubbled out of his mouth.

She laughed.  “You haven’t figured that out yet?” she asked him.  She turned her face away, and when she looked back, her face had changed.  Gone was the Tully red hair and blue eyes, replaced by dark hair and eyes the color of lichyard fog.

“They say I look like my father.” She whispered, as though revealing a dark secret, “The only one of his trueborn children who does.  Robb looked more like my mother, but then you know that don’t you.  At least he did until they sewed his direwolf’s head to his body.  Whose head should I sew to your body, I wonder?”

                His already pale face blanched at her words.  “Oh don’t worry.  I really don’t have the time for that.  Though I do wonder what will kill you first, the gash in your neck or the fire.”

With that she climbed from the bed and removed the dress, standing before him as naked as her nameday, covered in his blood.  She picked up the candle and stepped from one corner of the bed to the next, lighting each bed curtain as she went.  The dim light of the room was replaced by the bright glow of the fire that was rapidly spreading across the bed to the terrified man that was trapped within it.

She laughed gleefully and spun about the room, lighting anything that would burn, before moving to the door.  The smoke had not made its way beneath the door yet, so the guards had no idea what was going on when she stepped through it, naked and covered with blood.  Before they had time to react she had killed them both.  She went back to where she had hidden her cloak and covered her naked body beneath it.  She had clean clothes waiting for her in the woods, but for now the cloak would be enough.

She took a torch off a nearby sconce and made her way back down through the tower, setting fire to everything she could.  By the time she reached the bottom, the flames had been noticed, and guards were rushing in from the yard to contain the fire.  In all the confusion she easily slipped back out without being noticed.  She had done her part, the wolves would take care of the rest. 

She turned to watch the fire spreading throughout the tower as dozens of wolves ran past her toward the inferno, led by a large grey direwolf.  They easily took down the few guards left in the yard, then took position at every entrance and exit to the tower, making sure no one escaped her reckoning.  She could hear the screams as members of House Frey woke to find themselves trapped in the flames. 

She regretted that she could only burn the one tower, but it would have to be enough for now.   
Eventually they would all pay, but it was enough to know that they would live in fear until that day.  She wished she could see the faces of those laying siege to her mother’s home when they learned the fate of those they had left behind.  Their time would come.

She heard Nymeria howl into the night, the rest of her pack following suit.  For a moment the screams of the dying were drowned out but the wolves celebrating their victory, and she threw her head back and howled along with them.  Then she made her way to the river and used the light of the fire to wash the old man’s blood from her body, a feral smile on her lips.

  Arya Stark had come home.


End file.
